The Various Intonations of Bored
by armydoctorsaresexier
Summary: Smut, fluff and Johnlock. Basically Sherlock's bored, they text a while, John comes home and it's really just a few moments. There's banter, there's Sherlockian friendship, and there's a Sherlocky poem at the end of it. Enjoy guys!


John. - SH

John. - SH

JOHN. - SH

Do you understand urgency? I'm aware your mind is inferior to mine, but honestly JOHN HAMISH WATSON, ANSWER ME! - SH

YES Sherlock bloody hell, couldn't you wait a few minutes? I had a patient! - JW

Of course I could wait a few minutes. You are pitifully misguided if you believed for one moment that I actually would. - SH

Yes well 'pitifully misguided' has chosen to ignore you now. - JW

John it's urgent. A matter of life or death. - SH

Christ. What have you done this time? - JW

I'm bored. Entertain me. - SH

You're bored? That's the matter of life and death? - JW

Yes obviously. My mind is the centre of my existence John, for it to be idle and flailing for something to do is akin to another person-say drowning- desperately seeking air. - SH

Whatever you might think, you're human and boredom is most certainly not a life or death condition. So stuff it Sherlock, just don't destroy the flat for a few hours. I'll be there soon. - JW

Soon is not a few hours John. I can't wait that long! Get home. - SH

Come Home. Now. - SH

I even used one syllable words, surely you comprehended that! - SH

Ignoring you, play the violin or something. I've got another patient Sherlock. - JW

Playing the violin would be utterly pointless, I play it when I'm thinking John, and my miserable mind has nothing interesting to think about! Just look at everything, dull, boring. How do people get by living such dull lives? - SH

When's the next murder going to be John? I NEED A CASE. - SH

Where are my patches? - SH

How flammable would you say your oatmeal coloured jumper is? - SH

Where's your revolver John? - SH

Never mind. - SH

Theoretically speaking, If I intended to bake cupcakes, are they supposed to turn out blue, rubbery and bulletproof? - SH

Sherlock what the bloody hell are you doing in the flat? What'd you need my revolver for? Don't tell me you /actually/ shot cupcakes. - JW

You wouldn't know since you're not here John. I'm not telling you, come home if you must know. - SH

Also, I hadn't actually shot cupcakes. I shot cupcakes. - SH

SHERLOCK! - JW

Sherlock? What are you doing? - JW

I'm really nervous now. - JW

Sherlock? Answer! - JW

Answer right now or I call Mycroft. - JW

I was merely returning your actions. - SH

Returning my act-What? - JW

This is about me ignoring you earlier. You child. - JW

Calling me a child is both completely wrong and a poor way to persuade me to text you back. - SH

Oh wise brilliant resourceful Sherlock Holmes, enigmatic, illustrious, and wondrous to the extreme, would you do me the unimaginable honour of responding to my bloody texts? - JW

Sarcasm disguised as flattery won't work on me John. Though I accept, peasant. - SH

You just called me a peasant. - JW

I really should be insulted, but I can just imagine you saying that. Sherlock Holmes you're a ridiculous man. - JW

I am not ridiculous. - SH

Are you pouting? Oh I bet you are. It's the most petulant expression you have and it's _adorable._- JW

I am not adorable. - SH

You are. - JW

Am not. - SH

You are. - JW

Am not. - SH

I am . - SH

You are not - JW

Correct. - SH

Wha-Sherlock! Damn. - JW

You are though. - SH

You think I'm adorable? - JW

The jumpers, the tea making, the fussing about, the short stature. Yes you are. - SH

Hey! I'm not that short. - JW

Yes you are. Using values gathered from averaging the height of every man in England, you fall short (pun intended) of the average mark and are thus confirmed to be short. - SH

That's just because crazy trees like you shift the whole average taller than it should be! - JW

No need to get snarky John, the shortness contributes to the adorable, the cute, the endearing qualities you possess. - SH

Hang on, adorable? cute? endearing? Qualities? as in multiples? - JW

Do I have to explain every word in that sentence to you or are you decidedly brainless? - SH

Oh come off of it, those are the last words I'd have thought would escape your mouth. Let alone in regards to me! - JW

No words escaped my mouth John. - SH

Fine, text then. God you're so technical sometimes - JW

The word you're looking for is "accurate". - SH

You are all those things, you must be aware of it. Others are, and you're aware you have these qualities. Why would it be surprising that I noticed? I notice everything John. - SH

I..well I guess you're right, you do notice _everything._ I uh.. wow, thanks Sherlock. - JW

We're out of milk, and lighter fluid. On a side note, you're out of bullets. - SH

You might have discovered a new type of bulletproof material Sherlock. Keep the recipe, then when you get the money off that, you can repay my bullets. - JW

I have no intention of doing what you asked. - SH

So milk, lighter fluid. Fun fact Sherlock, I have a spare gun. - JW

Come home. - SH

Shop quicker - SH

You're incredibly inefficient John. - SH

Hurry up. - SH

Maybe I'd be quicker if I wasn't checking my phone every ten seconds due to a certain someone _pestering _me! - JW

Come home or else. I'm holding your oatmeal jumper hostage and have a bullet proof shield of cupcakes capable of warding off your nonexistent 'spare gun' - SH

My flatmate's gone completely bonkers. Read that out loud and tell me you didn't sound like a child! - JW

Talk to the bulletproof shield 'cas the world's only consulting detective ain't listenin' - SH

I knew I shouldn't have gotten you into crap telly. - JW

John chuckled as he paid the cab fare. Sherlock was so Sherlock, and he didn't even know what that was.

Padding up the steps to the flat John keyed the door and opened it with his feet, hands holding the shopping.

" Honey, I'm Holmes !" He sing-songed.

An indignant scoff could be heard somewhere around the vicinity of the sofa where a bush of black curls moved in earnest, bobbing with the muttered words of the detective. Sitting up with alarming quickness Sherlock swivelled and rotated his body, head coming to rest on the floor upside down as his feet shot onto the top of the sofa. It was all one swift, agile and graceful movement with him, always.

Shaking his head at the thoughts, John walked passed his eccentric flatmate and sorted the groceries. Placing the lighter fluid with a loud 'thump' on Sherlock's experiment table. What? Experiment table? That was the bloody kitchen table damn it, It couldn't stay the kitchen table for much longer if he himself started thinking of it as Sherlock's table for experiments.

Moving back to the room he let himself fall onto the sofa and look at his mad flatmate. Fondness glittered in his eyes and expression when he regarded the man currently upside down on the sofa, curls splayed on the floor, fair skin flushed red, eyes closed, hands pressed prayer-like underneath his chin. The material of his white shirt was pulled down by gravity, exposing a smooth expanse of pale skin moving with each of the detective's deep breaths.

Smiling fondly at the sight in front of him John let his mind wander. Sherlock was completely and utterly unlike anything he'd ever known. Mad, brilliant, all consuming, exhilarating, breathtaking, beautiful, amazing really. He'd become so much in his life now. Taking up every corner of his life, Sherlock, the brilliant beautiful mad man he lived with, squeezed his way into every moment.

Wait... beautiful? John knew he thought so, hell he'd thought so the first night he'd stumbled into hitting on him, his first man ever, trying to cover it up with almost no finesse. He cringed at the memory, Sherlock the giant, the hugely significant. He was like words blazed across the velvet darkness of night, commanding attention and reverence from everyone that could see it; brighter than the stars, burning in flames wild and furious, and John who saw it all, was just swept up in him, utterly dazzled.

And if that wasn't enough, that bloody brilliant git was wrapped in an alluring package of a slim sleek drop-dead-gorgeous man. Everything about him was just criminal in its attractiveness. Who actually has curls like that? Or skin so pale and wonderful? Or lips that bloody _sinful? _And his voice? John shuddered. It was rumbling and low, powerful and sensual like velvet caresses.

But despite all this, despite John's I-shall-sit-here-consumed-with-lust-for-the-remainder-of-this-evening moment, Sherlock was stock-still. Gradually and slowly swelling in time with his breathing, every muscle relaxed and settled, well, almost every muscle. Sherlock's toes high in the air were restless, curling, stretching, wiggling.

John giggled.

There was so much crap. Sherlock hated it. His mind palace was filled with so many useless things that simply had to be rid of. Going into the older corners of his palace, he deleted them. The primary colours are blue red and yellow DELETE. The closest star to the Sun in a binary star system of Alpha and Proxima Centauri DELETE. In fact, anything astronomical is useless isn't it? Moving to delete that whole shelf on that knowledge DELETE DELETE DELETE. Nursery rhymes, utterly pointless Round and round the gar- what ? John has just giggled. The sound melting through his layers of concentration spilling sunlight into the rooms of his mind palace. What was he trying to delete? Damn it was gone now. Opening his eyes Sherlock looked at John.

" You're upside down. " Sherlock pointed out, voice dripping with impatience.

John laughed then "No, _you're _upside down Sherlock"

" Hmm." Sherlock pretended to think " It's relative, and considering the past as the best attempt at knowledge on the matter, using the past, where I am most often right as a measure, my statement is more likely true." A smile twitched in Sherlock's lips " Right yourself John. "

John smiled wide, eyes filling with mirth as Sherlock mirrored a smile of his own back at him. Getting up he walked over the sofa, sat down and leaned backward enough to let his head slide to the ground slowly. He perched himself beside the couch, upside down alongside Sherlock. They were like ridiculous bats or something, hanging off the couch. John turned to look at Sherlock.

"You were bored?"

Sherlock turned as well, face close to John's.

" Yes. Obviously. It's been three days without a case John" he whined

John chuckled " Oh don't worry, I'm aware. You're no walk in the park when you're bored Sherlock "

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted " Walk in the .. what?"

John chuckled lightly " Don't worry, not important. Just a phrase. "

Sherlock nodded, turning back towards the ceiling. "Bored." He said, casually, conversationally.

John smiled " I know, you texted me a lot today. You know, you're really large up close. "

" Bored ? " Sherlock said, voice curious and questioning.

John smiled and shook his head. Sherlock was only going to use that one word to talk to John then. It was nothing new, Sherlock did it all the time, slipping into all sorts of weird habits. This wouldn't have been the first time, or the worst time. This was fairly moderate, and having lived with the man for so long John'd barely needed words to read Sherlock anyway.

" Your nose, it's a lot larger up close like this. " John brought his hands to Sherlock's face, flicking his nose lightly

" Bored!" Sherlock exclaimed, obviously appalled and objecting.

" No no, not like that you git, just larger. Your eyes are too," John moved his fingers up to Sherlock's eyebrow and traced around Sherlock's eye.

Sherlock stopped breathing, and turned to John. Eyes confused, then assessing.

" Bored?" It was a questioning tone, undeniably. But something about it made it safe. Maybe it was the fact that Sherlock could only say bored or maybe it was that John had harboured these feelings for so long. Maybe now he could-if ever there was a time.. surely now's as good as...

" Your lips too " John said in a soft voice, moving his fingers down to move across Sherlock's lower lip.

Sherlock shivered, letting out a soft " Oh.." then scrambled for words. A soft barely audible, near breathless " bored" escaped his lips.

John sighed, Sherlock was so responsive. It was...incredible. Those lips were sinfully soft to touch, and John knew he had to back away now if he was going to keep control of himself. Though he could have sworn for a second there Sherlock had wanted-anyway it was probably wishful thinking.

John cleared his throat and brought his hands back to himself, and let himself slide further into the carpet. He was lying on the floor now, more than he was upside down. His feet on the sofa. It was kind of relaxing. Sherlock followed his actions lying back enough to be stretched out mostly on the floor, feet on the sofa along John's.

John turned to face Sherlock again. " So what are we going to do about you being bored? "

Sherlock blinked a few times, giving up the game, then groaned loudly as the words sank in. " Probably die. "

John rolled his eyes " It really isn't a terminal illness Sherlock"

Sherlock glared back at John, in a look that seemed to say that 'yes, in fact, boredom is a terminal illness John, how could you be so stupid?' The term peasant came back in John's mind and that was it.

John burst laughing then, Sherlock's serious expression mixed with that ridiculous thought, had John laughing hard and openly, chest shaking with the force of it...and then it happened. Sherlock watched John laugh, face expressionless and leaned forward fast, pressing his lips to John's.

Sherlock saw John's face erupt in that bright laughter that sent Sherlock's heart warming, and that few moments before when John had touched his lip? Sherlock was damn near shivering with anticipation and then it had just stopped with John taking his hand away. Unable to stop himself this time, he leaned forward and kissed John, wanting to taste that laughter, and hold on to it. Possibly forever. Moving his mouth softly against John's and shivering at the feel of his lips, Sherlock amended: Definitely forever.

John ,caught off guard, felt his mind reel, and then clamp onto reality. Sherlock Holmes was kissing him, and _Christ_ it was good. Turning to grab the taller man's face, he moved his lips against Sherlock's in earnest, kissing him, willing him to realize that this was brilliant.

Sherlock sighed into the kiss when he felt John reciprocate, tension ebbing away, Sherlock shifted closer to John, body pressed right into him. A hand came up cradling the back of John's head, while another wrapped around John's waist beneath his shirt, sliding over smooth skin.

John grinned into the kiss, pulling back to allow them to breath. " Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled smugly " Bored. " in a tone that was fond, content and teasing all at once. Giggling, John grabbed a hold of Sherlock's sides and pulled him on top of him, then pulled him downwards to meet his mouth. "We can't have that now can we? "

This time the kiss was different. John was unabashed, unrelenting, and unrestrained in his possession of Sherlock's mouth, completely and utterly passionate. After months of pining after Sherlock, kissing him was a necessity as essential as water to a dying man. To generally quote a certain consulting detective : Breathing seemed boring unless it was air that'd already passed through Sherlock's lungs.

Sherlock shivered and groaned under John's ministrations, breath coming in short gasps as he felt his heart pound, pulse quickening. When John licked the seam of his lips Sherlock arched off the ground, letting out a shuddering moan.

John felt like a man possessed as he ravaged Sherlock's mouth, licking, kissing, and nibbling everywhere he could. Pushing his tongue through Sherlock's gasp-opened-lips John tasted Sherlock for the first time and felt himself go lightheaded, slightly dizzy and (though he'd never admit it) a bit faint. Sherlock tasted of rain and tea, and something undeniably Sherlock and it was perfect and wonderful and _so damn delicious_.

Sherlock groaned when John's tongue pressed into his mouth, warm and deliciously smooth, like velvet, and wet it made him shiver. Moving closer to John, he moaned at the closeness of their bodies, hands roaming wildly under John's shirt, feeling warm flesh, and the subtle movement of strong muscle.

John pulled back, forehead pressed into Sherlock's and breathing heavily into his mouth. " I think we should ah...take this .. to... well if you're willing.. the bedroom?"

Sherlock groaned in response and rutted against John " Yes!" He all but shouted. Jumping to his feet and pulling John with him, he ran to his bed, slowing down just as he entered his room. John took the opportunity to pin Sherlock against the door and kiss him, pulling Sherlock's head down level with his. John's other hand worked its way into Sherlock's trousers and cupped him.

Growling approvingly at the hardness he found there, John walked them backwards, then turned, pushing Sherlock onto the bed. Sherlock was blushing red, a blooming of colour that extended from the tips of his ears, across the sharp lines of his cheekbones, down that mouth-watering neck and under the fabric of the shirt. John intended to fix that right away and removed the offending shirt swiftly, throwing it aside and seeing the flush spread across Sherlock's chest. Smiling, he touched, hands roaming it; tasted, fingers sliding along skin; consumed, teeth biting, nibbling along skin and nipple gently.

Sherlock groaned, he moaned, he writhed, he shuddered, he shivered, shook, panted. John was touching, tasting, consuming every part of him, thawing through layers and layers of his self control until he came undone. Left breathless with eyes darkened heavily with desire, Sherlock tore the doctor's trousers and slipped down his underwear. Removing his own, he grit his teeth and pressed their erections together. Growling at the contact of oversensitive heated skin on oversensitive heated skin.

John bit back shouts as he felt their erections stroke each other. Pressing their chests together, John moved up and down on top of Sherlock, pressing into the detective hard. Tilting his face upwards, John caught Sherlock's lips with every upward motion, licking and panting into his mouth. John's breath wafted hot and heavy across Sherlock's face, and into his mouth. His tongue was a rogue thing, licking up Sherlock's neck, licking deep into his mouth, licking Sherlock's tongue as Sherlock licked back.

It was hard, fast, and sensual all at once. It felt sinful to taste Sherlock like that, to pant into his mouth and feel him gasp up into his own. To rutt against Sherlock with abandon, their chests sliding across each other's in ways that sent shivers, and curses streaming from his mouth. Always accompanying those curses and moans was the name 'Sherlock' uttered in completely unrestrained and unleashed passion.

Sherlock's senses were overloaded with John. So much John, it made him feel heady with desire, want. He was utterly consumed with a need for John, more more more John, all of John. He wanted it all, and wanted to give up all that he was too. The sensations, the specific ones he'd never bothered with, those visceral primitive touches he'd considered himself so above? They were _incredible _. Sherlock didn't have the words.

He stared deep into John's eyes as their bodies rubbed against each other sinfully, sensually, sexually. Eyes connected throughout the entire experience, even when John's tongue dipped into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's eyes half closed, but half opened needing to see all of John, to feel that connection blooming between them, intensifying every moment.

So when Sherlock clutched onto John's shoulders spilling out a ragged and loud " John " , John lost every shred of his control and bucked against Sherlock, all but shouting Sherlock's name as he came, coating Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock watched John orgasm and felt something inside him snap, and send him soaring over an edge of such intense pleasure that he too shouted John's name, coming across John's chest. Those bodily fluids mixed together as John continued to move over Sherlock, then stilled and went boneless on top of Sherlock, head falling into the space above Sherlock's shoulder and beside his head. Turning so his words were a hushed and breathless whisper in Sherlock's ear That was ..*pant* bloody fucking *pant* amazing *pant* Sherlock *pant pant pant*"

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak in response to John letting out a croak.

John chuckled and smiled, a note of pride in his voice "Shouted yourself hoarse did you?"

Sherlock nodded then forced out in a raspy voice " I'll leave you to your deductions" and attempted to turn, unsuccessful. " That or it could be the weight of a certain ex army doctor who, though I'm very fond of , weighs enough to make it difficult for me to breathe"

John laughed then, pressing forward to nip Sherlock's lips once before he rolled over and off Sherlock, sinking into his silk bed sheets. Honestly, Sherlock would have bloody silk bed sheets, and they felt so good. He sighed contentedly, first time with a man and he came without proper sex even. Words like amazing, fantastic, and brilliant came to mind, but he was hardly surprised. Sherlock was all those things in nearly everything it only made sense he'd be just as incredible in bed. It was nearly insane, that Sherlock hadn't done any of this before when he was such a sensual creature, silk sheets, shirts, the softest and smoothest bloody dressing gown? He just was.

Sherlock smiled watched the thoughts play across John's face. He was so easy to read, especially now when John was warm and content and holding nothing back. Something fluttered in his chest and Sherlock knew what it was, knew that John knew what it was too. He knew it in those moments that they were both utterly lost together, eyes tethering them together while they let their bodies take and give unabashed and unrelentingly. He knew it in the laughter crinkling John's eyes when they were done, and he knew it in every expression that flitted across the doctor's kind and wonderful face.

Sherlock nodded at John and they shared a smile, then burst out in gleeful laughter. They were so utterly mad, and it'd never felt so good to find someone else in the world to be utterly and totally mad with. It was an unspoken truth, one that they'd read in each other's eyes, expressions and actions for aged. Together Forever, most likely... Sherlock amended: Together Forever Definitely.

Sherlock sighed when John draped an arm around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him into the smaller man's chest, Sherlock listened to the sound of John's heartbeat, counted them, and made a mental note to ask John for his stethoscope later to hear John's heart better and create a new excel file on his computer to devote to the study of John's heart, test the tempo, the force of each-and fell asleep. Snug beside Doctor John Hamish Watson, sleeping to the sound of said doctor's heart, the aroma of sated and John permeating the air like clouds to dream.

Sherlock woke to the press of a certain army doctor's bit of anatomy that was most certainly _not_ small pressing hard into his thigh. Smiling, thinking he could get used to this, Sherlock pulled out his phone and checked the time 5:00am. John would not be pleased if he woke him, even for sex. He'd bide his time till then.

Groping the nightstand for something interest, Sherlock's hand caught on John's notebook. The one he brings to all the cases and flipped through the pages. Smiling at the "brilliant arrogant git" and "his lips are distracting" and " scrawled hastily into the margins. If he asked John about it, John would tell you he had to write those down to prevent the urge or blurting them out at crime scenes.

Turning to a fresh page Sherlock put pen to paper and wrote.

You're sleeping and it's an intriguing sight John. You are smoothed and content, and you remind me of a cute adorable hedgehog, but I don't think I can tell you that. Can't have you withholding sex for it. I'll tell you after our first time consisting of actual penetration. I've made a note of it, so I most certainly will, without fail, tell you so afterwards. Don't worry , I've been told I resemble an otter. Completely preposterous and untrue, obviously, but it seemed the thing you'd laugh at, and I'm incredibly fond of that noise. So fond that my chest feels tight and I have an urge to shout and cry at once, though I'd obviously do neither.

You have this beautiful erection, and it's poking at my side, and I really do wish you'd wake up soon because I've one to match and I believe they enjoyed getting to know each other yesterday.

WAKE UP JOHN. I'll think this thought so loud that I'm sure it'll wake you.

It didn't wake you.

I texted Lestrade numerous times and now he's switched off his phone. WAKE UP JOHN, I can't seem to look away at that bulge, or stop squirming against it. To be fair, you seem to enjoy it, even in your sleep-riddled-state. You've moaned my name when I did that. I'm doing it again now, maybe you'll dream of me. I must remember to ask if you had when you awake. It'll make for an interesting study. The effects of the external environment on your dreams. You'll let me conduct it on you, I'm sure. In light of recent events I can promise it will be made worthwhile and will be received well.

I've been researching what 'love' is on my phone to gather more data of the sentimental variety (my chemical knowledge of the phenomena is extensive) and I've decided to write you what is known as an "acrostic poem". I've put it against the tea kettle.

Check the kettle in the morning. It's a foolish gesture of love as any and I fear I do not understand its purpose, but you've always understood sentiment better than me. Hope it is acceptable. - SH

Sherlock heard the buzz of the text on John's nightstand and knew it would be the first thing the good doctor saw when he got up to go to work that morning. Sinking more comfortably into bed, Sherlock pressed into John and inhaled him deeply, feeling content and uncharacteristically willing to doze again into the mindlessness of sleep, for the sole reason that John would be beside him.

JOHN

Jugular: yours pulses, and I can see it when you're angry, aroused, elated from criminal chases, stressed. Your blood is special because it keeps you alive, and you are very much required to always be alive. Do you understand that John? Always.

Ovaries: More specifically, your lack of them make you my area. If you catch my drift.

Heart: Both physical and metaphorical, it is my favourite part of you. Physically because all of you fascinates me, and metaphorically because your heart is the manifestation of yourself, and you are a wonder to me John.

Neurotransmitters: You make them all fire in me: adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin (in one syllable words, I love you).

-S. Holmes


End file.
